COME UNDONE
by
PiperMerlyn
Chapter 3
The Chapters
19 May 2003
Paris, France
7:15 pm
It finally registered that it was dark outside. She looked up from a water-stained, yellowed copy of Robert H. Heinlein's The Cat Who Walks Through Walls and saw Michael busy at his desk, going through the mail for the last month. He'd blamed the pile of mail on the absent-minded professor syndrome and she'd just given him a yeah-right look and settled in with a book.
"Hot damn!"
Ariel got up, marking her spot with a scrap of paper. "What?"
"Well, Sheldon's as bad about correspondence as I am. I wrote him a year ago and he finally sent me a response last month." He yanked the sheet of paper out of the envelope. His eyes moved rapidly as he began to read. "What?"
"What is it?"
"He says he found a cuff-style bracelet in a small tomb at Karnak. It's gold and inlaid with turquoise squares. Looks like nothing he's ever seen and according to him, it's not even remotely similar to Native American styles."
"Well, you usually don't find turquoise and gold together. It's usually paired with silver."
"True."
"What else?"
"He says he also found a statuette of a unicorn, carved out of jade with a crystal horn."
"In Egypt?"
"Yeah, weird, huh."
"That's too mild a word for it." Ariel shook her head. "A unicorn."
"Yep, that's what he says. He invited me to get first look."
"Great."
Michael looked up at her. "Come with me."
"What? I can't--"
Michael got to his feet and skirted the desk to take her free hand in his. "Please. You have no pretense about history now--you can cut through all the flak."
"But--"
"What holds you here?"
"I--" Ariel shook her head, then sighed. "Egypt?" she asked, feeling a sense of homesickness. Did she live there?
Michael grinned. "The Sphinx, Giza, Luxor, Karnak, the whole kit and kaboodle."
"What about Nick?"
"He can come too. I'll get Joely to take care of the shop."
Ariel put down the book. "Okay."
"Yes!" Michael's grin widened. "Thank you."
"What are you so excited about?"
Michael looked over at Alethea, standing in the open door of his shop. The door he'd locked an hour ago. "I wish you'd stop practicing on my shop."
"Gotta practice somewhere. Where's Quinn?"
"Out."
Alethea grunted and kicked the door shut. "Out where?"
"How the hell should I know?" Michael shrugged. "Probably at HS. He goes there once in a blue moon."
"The moon's not blue."
Michael glanced out the nearest window of the shop, saw a black sky and nothing else. "The moon's not even visible."
Ariel grinned. "You two would argue about anything."
"Yep."
Alethea looked horrified. "My God, I have to agree with you."
"Does that mean hell will freeze over," came a new voice. "Al, stop picking the locks. Michael's gone through three sets already this year."
"He likes to challenge me," commented Alethea, flexing her fingers. "Where've you been?"
"Visiting with Alexander. Michael kicked me out."
"I did not. You left voluntarily."
Quinn sighed. "Didn't have much choice, now did I."
Michael waved a hand as if to swat it all away. "Sheldon's sent me news. Said he found something quite interesting at Karnak."
"So?" Quinn glanced around the shop. "Go. I'll keep shop."
"I asked Ariel to come."
Quinn frowned. "Michael--"
"And I said yes. You're invited too."
"I don't think that's such a good idea," began Quinn, trying not to be too obvious in studying Ariel. Her choice in clothes had been more for comfort than high style. She didn't seem like a spoiled rich kid. "It might be--"
"Well, I think it's a great idea," said Alethea, nudging Quinn hard. Then she got a wicked look in her eyes. "I'll take care of this dump."
"Oh no you don't," snapped Michael.
Quinn sighed. "Who'll mind the store?"
"Joely. She's done it before. Whaddya say, Quinn. Egypt, the land of the pharoahs, the land of pyramids, the--"
"Land of desert," muttered Alethea. "And sand. God, I hate sand. It's why I stay away from beaches."
"I didn't invite you," said Michael glaring at her.
"And you don't do beaches because you refuse to wear a swimsuit in public," said Quinn.
Alethea just glared at him.
Quinn winked at her, then turned to Michael. "At least if she comes with us, you won't have to worry about her picking the locks."
"Oh hell, fine. You can come."
"Why the hell would I want to? I told you I hate sand."
Ariel bit back a grin. "Where's your sense of adventure, Alethea?"
"She doesn't have one," said Michael.
"Sez you," snapped Alethea. "Fine. But I'll be bored to tears. What could I possibly steal?"
"Steal?" Ariel blinked, startled. "You're a thief?"
Alethea shrugged, polished her nails on her shirt. "Not a thief. Think of me as a liberator."
"Of other people's stuff," muttered Michael.
Alethea's grin widened. "One man's junk is another man's treasure."
"Give up, Michael, before she wears you out."
Ariel laughed. "Truce, please. Until we get to Egypt."
"But where's the fun in that," asked Michael, grinning.
***
They went to a little restaurant on the Champ Elysees for dinner. Arile found herself getting comfortable with her three companions. Alethea had a tart tongue and a ready wit and both Nick and Michael got a kick out of riling her. Ariel shook her head. "Don't you two ever quit?"
Michael grinned and Ariel got the strangest sense of deja vu looking at him. God, he reminded her of someone--who? "Where's the fun in that?" he asked.
Quinn rolled his eyes. "Behave, Michael."
"I haven't embarrassed anyone in public since I was five."
"You had to bring that up, didn't you."
Alethea rested her elbows on the table. "Now this should be interesting."
Before Michael could start, the front doors of the restaurant burst open and a raven-haired man with hazel eyes strode past the startled garcon and zeroed in on Ariel. "Where the hell have you been?"
"D-do I know you?" asked Ariel, suddenly unsettled.
The man gave her a puzzled look. "Morgan, honey, it's Brian. I've been searching all over Paris for you!" He took a deep breath and made an effort to lower his voice. "Sweetheart, you scared me to death."
Michael and Quinn shared a surprised look across the table, the former clamping down on a sudden unexpected spurt of jealousy. Ariel stared at this man, then scrambled out of her seat and backed away, shaking her head. "I....don't know you."
Brian frowned. "Morgan--" His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "I'm your husband, sweetheart. I'm Brian."
Ariel shook her head so forcefully the earrings jingled. "No. Don't touch me. I don't know you." She couldn't explain the fear, the sudden suffocating feeling. "No.."
"She has amnesia." Nicholas Quinn stepped between Brian and Ariel. "She doesn't remember who she is."
Brian looked him up and down. "And who the bloody hell are you?"
"Nick Quinn."
"And I'm Michael Radcliffe." Michael skirted the table and stood by Quinn. "And you?"
"Brian Messier." His frown deepened. "She doesn't remember anything?"
Quinn shook his head. "No."
Michael glanced at Alethea. "Can you take Ariel back to the yacht?"
"Her name is Morgan and she's coming home with me," snarled Brian.
Alethea nodded and grabbed Ariel's wrist. "Let's go."
"She's--"
Quinn nearly shoved him into a chair. "We need to talk."
The two women left the restaurant. Alethea gestured to her motorcycle. "Hop on, Ariel."
"Nice wheels."
"Thanks. You ride?"
"Yeah..." She recalled the loud thrum of a motorcycle engine, rolling green hills, there had been a sense of urgency then too. "I do."
"Come on then. Let's fly like the wind."
***
Brian Messier stared into his sixth mug of beer, looking half drunk and mostly forlorn. "And she doesn' remember anything?"
The head garcon at the restaurant had asked them politely to leave and an hour ago, the three men had converged on a small smoky tavern off a side street. Quinn sat back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest. "No."
Brian heaved a sigh. "Thanks for takin' care of her." He fumbled half-heartedly for his wallet. "How much--?"
Quinn pushed his hands away. "No. It doesn't matter. Brian, I think somebody tried to kill her." He caught Michael's startled look and shook his head to forestall his friend's questions.
Brian slammed his hand, wallet and all, on the table. "O'course someone tried to kill her!" His words were starting to slur. "She mos' certainly didn' jump."
Quinn didn't want to talk to the man as drunk as he was. "I think she's better off where she's at for now. Unitl we find out who tried to kill her."
Brian narrowed his eyes. "Better off where?" he demanded.
"My yacht."
The expression on Brian's face was pure jealousy. "With you?" He tried to get out of his chair. "She's my wife. You can't have her."
Quinn rolled his eyes. Michael leaned forward. "She's safer where she's at. We'll protect her."
"Two of ya? I want her home." He managed to stand. He thumped his chest with his fist and nearly knocked himself over. "With me. I'll take care of her." He staggered and fell back into his chair, then hefted the mug of beer and downed it all. "Home.....with me."
Quinn shared a look with Michael who shrugged. He cleared his throat. "Come on, Brian, let's get you home."
Brian was good and drunk. Of course after six beers, one right after another, Quinn wasn't really surprised. "Home," muttered Brian. "With Morgan."
Quinn sighed. "Call him a cab, Michael."
"Sure thing."
"I can drive," mumbled Brian, searching his pockets for his keys.
"I'd hate to see some drunk crash into you. A cab's much safer," said Quinn. He saw Michael roll his eyes.
"Yeah," said Brian, staggering twoard the nearest door that plainly read in French and English: Employees Only. "Stup'd drunk drivers, don't have th'sense to stay home when they're drunk."
"Cab's on it's way," said Michael, trying to shake an uneasy feeling. Something was wrong here but he just couldn't figure it out.
"Thanks." Quinn steered Brian toward the exit. You go home and sleep it off. We'll talk tomorrow."
Brian nodded vigoriously, then held his hand to his head as the room danced around him. "To-tomorrow? Talk 'bout what?" he asked and promptly passed out.
Both Quinn and Michael just groaned.
***
19 May 2003
Paris, France
10:31 pm
She couldn't sleep--it wasn't that the bed was uncomfortable or that she wasn't tired. She just couldn't sleep. Married. She shuddered in the dark. She couldn't be married...not to him. She didn't feel married. Something about Brian Messier scared her. And for no reason she could fathom, like the sudden attack of claustrophobia earlier. It didn't make any sense.
"Morgan," she said softly. No. She didn't like it. It was hard, evil--someone with that name....She took a breath as the name came to mind. "Morgan Le Fay." Images rushed in on her. A woman using witchcraft to her own ends, bearing a son..."King Arthur. Morgan Le Fay was King Arthur's half sister. Her son Mordred was destined to deal the death blow to the king." She shivered as it dawned on her there was something wrong with her if she could remember obscure details but not her own name.
She took a deep breath. "Ariel." Yes, that was better. She liked Ariel. An image came to mind--deep under the sea, mermaids--a pearl. Automatically, her hand shot to her neck but there was nothing there. A pearl necklace. Did she lose it? A dark-haired imp of a child flashed through her mind, a strong masculine hand bare of any jewelry came into her field of vision, then the images were gone.
Ariel kept moving to the center of the bed. The combination of of a silk sleepshirt and silk panties and satin sheets made her feel as if she'd slide right out of bed if she wasn't careful. She fell back against the pillows and forced herself to relax. She directed her thoughts to Michael's theory. A master civilization... Could Michael be right. Could there have been a great civilization bfore Egypt's heyday?
Strange, how right that sounded. There was a huge blank spot beyond 5,000 BCE. No written records, nothing. Yet human remains have been dated as far back as three million years ago. Ariel gave vent to a wide yawn. "It's only taken us seven thousand years to from Ancient Egypt to now," she said out loud. "Considering how old the earth is, that's just a drop in the bucket."
Suddenly, that strange sensation washed over her again and she scrambled out of bed to peek out the nearest porthole. Parked under a streetlamp was the Aston-Martin. She heard a door open and close, then soft footsteps. She hurried to her stateroom door and pulled it open. "Nick?"
"I didn't mean to wake you." There was a click and a dim light came on.
Ariel shook her head. "I wasn't sleeping." She was suddenly conscious of her attire--the sleepshirt barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. "I....can't sleep."
Quinn nodded and toed off his boots. "Too much too soon."
She fiddled with the top button of her turquoise sleepshirt. "Do you believe him?"
Quinn undid the pewter hairtie, freeing his shoulder-length dark hair. "Do you?"
Her fingers itched to touch that wavy dark hair. She focused instead on his question. "No."
Nick's head shot up at her tone. "Are you remembering or is convenient denial?"
She winced and felt her face flame. "What, are you a saint? I don't like him. Gut reaction."
Nick pulled the black and silver belt free of the loops of his black jeans. He wrapped the belt into a small circle and set it on the nearest end table. "Just...go back to bed...Morgan."
"Don't call me that," she snapped. "I'm not married. I don't feel married." Suddenly, an image flashed in her mind. A bride clad in flowing white, auburn hair piled high on her head, a tall dark-haired man standing next to her. The image shook her so hard she staggered. Was she married?
Nick moved forward. "Are you okay?"
Angry, scared and confused, she turned to him. "Stop asking me that, damn it. I'm not nearly okay."
Nick stopped shy of the doorway and touched her shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry."
Ariel took a deep breath. "Please call me Ariel. Not that other name. That's not my name."
Quinn wanted to tell her Ariel wasn't hers either but didn't. He just nodded. "Go on to bed now. We'll deal with all this tomorrow." He watched her give a jerky nod and stepped back as she went into the room and pushed the door closed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Hopefully, all would be better in the morning.
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Disclaimer
The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.